Within Jigsaw
by bellaisapirate
Summary: TO BE RE-POSTED!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the character of Jigsaw or the plot of the Saw movies. I don't make any money from writing this.

This is an AU story about the Saw movies. It will contain some spoilers from the later movies, but it will not follow any particular plotline from previous films.

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_Drip, drip, drip._

The first sound I heard was the sound of dripping water. For a moment I thought I was in my own bathroom, and that the dripping was that damn sink that just would not stay fixed. Three plumbers and an ex-boyfriend later I gave up; it'd just have to drip for the rest of my stay in that place. When the moment passed however, I realized that there was a draught in this place that made it impossible for me to be safe at home. My apartment complex wasn't exactly the Ritz, but it was nice enough and it definitely didn't have a smell to it. What was that smell even? I strained my neck and felt my nostrils flare when trying to identify it.

"Hello?" It felt weird to talk; I realized it must be because my mouth was dry. I wanted to look around, but even though my eyes had gotten used to the darkness there wasn't much to see. Something big to my left, what could possibly be a door to the right and high above me was a dirty window.

I was in a basement.

As soon as that realization hit me a wave of panic flooded my brain. I'd been kidnapped. It was so surreal I had to sit completely still for a moment to grasp the concept of it. My lips trembled and I felt like vomiting, but of course nothing came up. Instead I just sat there dry heaving for a second. I pushed my hazel hair away from my eyes and tried to force away the intense fear that had gripped my heart. Someone had taken me from my home and brought me to this place. But why?

"Can anyone hear me?" My voice cracked when I tried to scream out, but I had to try. It didn't hurt trying, right? Feeling around me I realized I was sitting on cement, and the floor felt cold against my bare skin. Great, apparently I'd been taken while wearing my t-shirt and short pajama combination that I used to sleep in. What was the last thing I remembered?

But it was completely blank. I could remember my whole life, but what I'd been doing for the past 24 hours just wouldn't come to me. It was fuzzy and I realized it must be because I was drugged. Of course I was drugged, how else would they have gotten me to this place? Who were they for that matter?

"Fuck," I mumbled and tried to stand. I failed miserably, probably due to the drugs in my system. Why would anyone want to take me? I wasn't that pretty, I didn't stand out in a crowd, I didn't go out my and I didn't participate in scandals. I lived alone, I worked at a diner, I went hiking in my free time and I refused relationships. By all means I wasn't ugly or boring, I was very happy with myself, but I didn't stand out in a crowd or make myself seen very often.

I was a wallflower, to put a term on it. Not quite as pathetic as those wallflowers in high school, but I still was one. I had one friend who I talked to online and a mother who I talked to at Christmas and my birthday. Short list. Who would take me when there were so many more attractive and interesting people out there? What made me special?

Over where there was possibly a door a noise caught my attention and I backed deeper into the corner I was huddling in. I refused to keep my back open, and if I was going to die I was going to put up as much of a struggle as I could. No one would take out Caitlin Rose without her at least doing some damage. I tensed all my muscles and made sure to be in a crouching position. If someone tried something, even if they had a gun, I'd spring from my position and hope that my body had woken up enough to allow me to go for the door. I was a wallflower, but I wasn't a coward, and I wasn't weak either. I was just happy not standing in the spotlight.

Keys jingled and the sound of chains made my breath quicken. This could be it. This could be the moment I died. A blinding light suddenly hit me and made me hiss in surprise, my corneas burning.

"Glad to see you're awake."

I didn't respond to the male voice, I was too busy rubbing my eyes and cursing out loud. There was a ruffling next to me, too close for comfort and I opened my eyes ignoring the stinging.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

He sounded honest, but why would I take his word for it? He looked like he was in his fifties, the white hair on his head being a dead giveaway. He didn't look mean; he had a kindness about his face, but also an indifference that scared me more than anything else. I had expected a kidnapper to wear some sort of special outfit (for some ridiculous reason), but he wore a red t-shirt and blue jeans. Nothing special, nothing spectacular. He looked like a normal guy.

"Why am I here?" I asked once my heart was beating at a fairly steady pace. He had simply walked in and sat on the bed, which I noticed had been that big thing to my right. Did he expect me to sleep on that bed? Was I expected to stay here for a long period of time? Surely not.

"You'll know soon enough," he said, his voice low and raspy.

I decided to chance it, and took a quick look around me when my eyes had gotten used to the light. I figured I'd hear the bedsprings squeak if he stood up to kill me. My original assessment had been right; I was in a basement. There was nothing but a bed, a sink and a toilet in the room. Or the word "cell" was a better one to use to describe the space I was in. Cement floor, tiled walls, dirty ceiling. Suddenly tears stung my eyes instead of the light and I had to swallow to stop myself from sobbing. How could this happen to me?

"I don't want to be here," I whispered, almost pleading. He didn't reply, nor did he move. He just sat on the bed with black frames and white sheets. There was a sympathetic look on his face that I hated, suddenly I was filled with anger and I just wanted to hurt him.

"Don't try anything; you're still weak from the drugs." It was almost as if he'd read my mind, or maybe he'd just seen the anger flare up in my eyes. It was my turn not to reply; instead I turned my face away from him and aimed it at the corner I was occupying.

When he noticed I wasn't going to pay him anymore attention he seemed to think it was unnecessary to speak to me. I heard him stand up – the bed squeaked, just like I'd anticipated – and his feet moved across the floor behind me. The door made a tired sound as he opened it again, but then I noticed him hesitate for a second.

"I'd advise you to rest for a while; I'll bring you food in a few hours."

Then he left, the door was shut and bolted, and finally I could allow grief to rip through my body. Never before had I cried so much or felt so hopeless. My body ached and I still couldn't stand up, there was nothing for me to do, nothing for me to try. How brave was I now? I hadn't even tried to attack him or fight back or escape. I'd done nothing.

Caitlin Rose was nothing but a coward it seemed, and that thought made me cry even more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the character of Jigsaw or the plot of the Saw movies. I don't make any money from writing this.

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Not having a clock there was no way for me to know how much time had passed since I last saw my kidnapper. All I knew was that I'd gotten rid of a lot of tears due to a long cry, and that I was exhausted. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction, I stayed clear of the bed and instead crawled into a fetus position in my corner of the room. My tears long since gone, and sleep refusing to relieve me from my distress I allowed my mind to tread dangerous waters. Imagining how you'd be rescued or what you'd tell the police probably wasn't the best idea, especially since it looked as if I'd never be able to escape. But I didn't know what else to think of.

Not only did my body ache, it was cold too. If I'd been ready to give up my pride I would've used the smooth and soft (well, they looked like it from across the room at least) covers from the bed, but I refused to. I didn't want him for a second to believe that I was accepting that I'd be here for a while. He couldn't keep me here, he just couldn't. There was no way, I wouldn't have it.

A sudden loud bang drew me away from my erratic thoughts and I sat up quickly. Too quickly I realized when the room began to spin in front of my eyes. In a sad attempt to steady myself I held my hands out in front of me, a loud moan escaped my lips as grey spots danced before my eyes.

"You'll feel better once you've eaten and rested." I jumped at his voice. I hadn't even heard him unlock or open the door; I'd been too busy trying not to pass out. I ignored his comment and allowed my blue eyes to study him carefully. At the slightest opportunity I'd run towards the door.

Of course such an opportunity wouldn't come since I noticed he was standing alarmingly close to it. My heart sank and I felt that lump in my throat again, pestering me, reminding me of my weakness. In his hands he held a tray which had a plate and a cup on it. The same second he noticed my eyes lingering on the cup I turned my gaze away. He took a slow step forward, making me flinch and press myself closer to the wall, almost as if I hoped I could somehow squeeze myself right through it.

"You'll die if you don't eat or drink," he said matter-of-factly, his voice ringing with indifference. I felt myself tremble at the sound, more so from fear than the cold.

"I'm going to die anyway, right?" My question didn't seem to faze him even the slightest.

"Eat up." He placed the tray on the concrete in front of me, but like a stubborn child I refused to look in his direction. "You'll eat when you're hungry." He sounded so sure of himself I wanted to kick him in the ass.

"Fuck you," I dared myself to mumble, almost hoping that he'd react with anger, or at least some form of feeling. The way he seemed to not care about anything made my skin crawl. At least if he was angry or shouted at me to go to hell or shut the fuck up, well then he'd show that he felt something. He didn't seem to feel anything at all.

"I'll make sure to get you a clock, so you can tell the time." With that he was gone. My heart pounded in my chest and my ears were ringing with all the words I wished I had screamed after him. Finally I couldn't contain my anger anymore.

Standing for the first time since I'd woken up, I felt a dizzy spell wash over me again but I held onto the cold tiled wall and didn't fall back down. Bending my knees I picked up the tray and took three long steps towards the door. Anger seared through my body, not only at my kidnapper, but also at whoever was up there (God or whatever) for letting this happen to me.

"Why don't you just fucking kill me you bastard?" I screamed, my voice hoarse from the lack of proper use. I threw the tray with all my force against the door, the food and drink painting the walls with their sticky substances. "You're nothing! Do you hear me? You're nothing but a sick fuck that kidnaps girls for some retarded reason!"

My words had lost their sense, and my brain couldn't stop my mouth from screaming. All the emotions that I had built up in my body; fear, anger, sorrow, hurt, confusion, well they just exploded in a moment. I allowed my bare foot to make contact with the cold steel of the door, ignoring the shooting pain that traveled up my entire leg.

"I want to go home!" Hammering with my fists on the door now, I refused to stop shouting insults, any fowl words I could think of, they all escaped me with complete ease. And I wasn't the kind of person who even said damn when I tripped on something. "I'm going to kill you," my voice broke down at last. "I'm going to kill you."

My bleeding fists stopped pounding against the unmoving door, my whole body shaking with sobs. Falling to my knees in front of the door I continued screaming until my voice had completely disappeared and nothing but guttural gasps passed over my lips.

"I want to go home," I pleaded quietly to the bottom of the door.

The sun hit my face, and no matter how much I wanted to escape it I had nowhere to hide. Groaning I realized there was no point in trying to stay asleep, so finally I sat up in bed, stretching lazily. With a quick glance on the clock I noticed I had another three hours before work started, so I could handle a slow start. Encouraged by that realization I jumped out of bed, shivering slightly at the sudden cold without the covers hugging my slim body.

"Good morning!" I called to no one in particular, just like I did every morning. Just because I lived alone it didn't mean I never talked out loud. I talked to myself all the time, and sometimes I just talked in general. I didn't want to live with someone, but I didn't want my apartment to always be quiet either.

I skipped towards the bathroom at the other end of my somewhat cramped apartment, grabbing a towel from a chair in the kitchen on my way. At the same time as I reached the door, I started humming a song by Bruno Mars to myself. I didn't have a particular favorite band, though I did enjoy music, and Bruno Mars was one of the few musicians I knew by name.

"When I see your face, there's not a thing that I would change, 'cos you're amazing, just the way you are!" My voice echoed against the tiles in my bathroom as I sang. Closing the door, but not bothering to lock it (I lived alone, who on earth would ever walk in on me?) behind me I continued singing, tossing the towel on the dripping sink.

I woke up with a start, my body convulsing with panic. It took me a few seconds to remember where I was, and to remember my dream. I realized quickly that that's when he'd gotten me. Why the hell didn't I lock the door behind me? Or he could've already been in the bathroom, already waiting for me. Why the hell didn't I have a dog?

Slowly I sat up, running a hand through my tangled hair, realizing only after that my hands were bloody from my fight with the door (which I lost, for the record) and my already dirty hair probably looked even worse with blood streaks. Deciding that any more tears were unnecessary, I managed to stand up and made my way towards the toilet which was positioned in the corner opposite the one I'd previously occupied. Shifting from foot to foot I stood in front of it for a second, weighing my options.

No matter how stubborn I was, no matter how easily I could ignore the hunger I felt or the burning thirst in my throat, I couldn't ignore the urges of my body. I had to pee. Period.

"Shit." I had no option, it had to be done.

Making sure to keep a strict eye on the door I finished as quickly as I could, ripping some tissue off from the roll when I was done, making sure to pull my shorts up the same second I was done. My face burned with shame, but I tried telling myself that I'd had no other choice. I flushed the toilet and washed my hands, and suddenly I felt like a complete idiot.

Why did I bother washing my hands? I was a prisoner without a shower, and mostly likely I already smelled since I hadn't showered since the day before the day I was kidnapped. I didn't even know how long it had been. A giggle of insanity erupted from within me; I had to struggle to quiet it down. I couldn't lose my mind, that wouldn't do me any favors.

I needed to stay sharp and to not give up. Such outbursts like the one I'd previously had wasn't okay. It couldn't happen again. If I was going to survive my stay, I had to stay smart and brave. My positive thoughts had to win over the thoughts surrounding my impending death. Easier said than done, but I had to try.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the character of Jigsaw or the plot of the Saw movies. I don't make any money from writing this.

_Yes, this chapter is supposed to be this short, hence two updates in a row._

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Nothing in his body felt right as he heard her scream. The door didn't budge, but the sound of her fists crashing against it was unmistakable. This wasn't what he wanted; it wasn't what he had wished would happen. She was supposed to be strong, to handle it, do see as he saw. She was supposed to understand and agree, to save as he saved.

This was wrong, and he didn't want to hear her anymore. Sighing, John Kramer rose from his seat and walked away from the sound of the girl crying. He didn't think it'd affect him, but it did, and he hated it. He tried his best to ignore her pleas and her outbursts of aggression as he left the room and shut the door behind him; now two rooms away from her, her words couldn't be heard as clearly.

John hesitated for a moment, lingering glancing behind him at the door he'd just closed. Then he came to his senses and walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the character of Jigsaw or the plot of the Saw movies. I don't make any money from writing this.

* * *

After using the toilet in my cell I decided that sleeping in the bed for a while wouldn't steal anymore of my pride. After peeing so publicly it felt as if nothing I did could make it worse. Of course the fact that my hands and feet had started turning blue from the coldness of the floor also played a big part. Shivering and still with tears glittering in my eyelashes I crawled towards the bed, too tired and exhausted to bother standing up again. I wasn't sure how long I'd been in this prison, but I knew I should eat or drink something. However, that was a satisfaction I wasn't going to give him. Either he let me go, or I was going to starve myself to death.

"I'm taking control over this," I mumbled through dry lips just as I reached the bed. The sheets felt feathery under my fingers, and for a second I wasn't sure I'd ever felt anything as soft before.

It wasn't without trouble that I managed to climb into bed and place myself under the covers, pulling my knees up to my chest to try and regain warmth a little bit quicker. Starving myself was easy, as many teenagers before me I'd had a period of anorexia and I was used to the concept of not eating. It'd been years since I'd purposely gone days without any proper food, but now it seemed like a skill that would come in handy. A stupid decision probably, but since I couldn't control anything else, I didn't even have enough strength to try and fight him with violence, then at least the way I died should be my choice.

"That's so rich," I giggled all of a sudden. "I'm so pathetic, acting like a spoiled brat who starves herself to get her daddy's attention. Man I'm sad. And now I'm talking to myself. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm going to die either way." The harshness of my own words scared me more than I wanted to admit. I didn't want to think that way.

I turned around, so that my back was against the rest of the room, burying myself deeper underneath the heavenly warmth on top of me. A million dark thoughts gnawed at me, stopping me from finding rest. I didn't want to acknowledge them, but with nothing else to distract me it was difficult. Finally, after picturing the sad faces of my parents for the tenth time, and imagining their beautiful speeches at my funeral, I'd had enough. Placing my hands over my ears I closed my eyes tightly and did the only thing I could think of that might calm me down enough to fall asleep.

I sang.

For just a second I allowed myself the dangerous thought that I was fine, that I'd woken up in my own bed, and that no one wanted me any harm. Even if it was just for a second, it ripped my soul to so many pieces it felt like nothing would be able to put it back together again. My head hurt from the lack of food and water. I blinked my eyes a few times to get used to the light – it seemed he wasn't intending on turning the lights off again – and then stretched my aching limbs a little.

The sound of the door made me jump, and quickly I fell back down, pulling the covers over my head. I had no interest in speaking with my kidnapper. I could hear him open and close the door, and he took a few steps before coming to a halt. With my lungs hating me for not allowing them new air I listened intently for him to do something. In the end I had to take a shaky breath to keep myself from passing out.

"I know you're awake." It was a statement and nothing else. "I don't need you to say anything; I just need you to listen." His voice did for the first time since I'd woken up the day before (or was it the day before that even?) contain some form of emotion, though I wasn't sure which or if I liked it.

I didn't reply, if he really didn't need me to say something then I wouldn't.

"My name is John Kramer," he said. "You might know me as Jigsaw."

Oh fuck. Oh shit. Oh no. I'd rather have been kidnapped by Hitler than this guy. My entire body started shaking; there was nothing I could do to stop it. Just as little could I stop the tears forming in my eyes or the way my body seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

"All I need you to do is listen," he repeated. "Can you do that?"

Not daring to risk angering him, I made sure to nod clearly enough so that he could tell that I was agreeing, even if I was still hidden underneath the blankets.

"Good." He seemed satisfied, a pang of anger soared through me, but the fear gripping my heart was much more prominent. "Everything you've heard about me is true, except I've never murdered anyone. You see, I want people to appreciate their lives. I want people to see what they have and be grateful. It makes me very angry when people are born into privilege and they throw it away on drugs or prostitution. Or they are happily married but still sleep with a cute colleague."

There was a moment of deafening silence, and all I could hear was the hammering sound of my own heart. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to say something or not, but I opted for staying quiet; he'd said he didn't need me to talk, just listen. I didn't want to listen either though, all I wanted was to block his voice out and let my mind wander to nicer places, but it didn't seem possible.

"What I do is simply testing people, to make sure they deserve to live. To make them appreciate the life they have and to stop throwing it away. I want women to respect their bodies and men to love their families. I want everyone to look at life and stop for just a second every day and say 'I'm alive and I'm happy for that'."

Not being able to hold it back anymore I sniffled once, painfully aware that the sound was unmistakable.

"I provide people with the tools to take control of their own lives. I provide them with everything they need to stay alive, as long as they choose that for themselves. Sometimes the price to pay for their lives is big, but if they survive they'll realize they've offered nothing in vain. They'll be alive and they will cherish themselves and everyone around them. This is all I want for people. I don't want them to fail the test, I want them to succeed and learn." His words scared me and made me angry at the same time. I was grateful that he seemed to be ignoring my obvious crying, but his words sparked something deep within me.

His bullshit sparked my will to fight.

"Life shouldn't be wasted; people need to prove that they deserve it."

Finally he hit the mark and I sat up quickly, turning around to face him. I was barely aware of the fact that I must've looked like shit, my hair tangled and messy, my eyes red and puffy and my cheeks wet with tears. I didn't even react to the fact that he'd somehow brought a chair into the room without me noticing and was sitting only a few feet away from the bed I was occupying.

"Oh that's such a load of bullshit!" I snapped at him, ignoring the part of me that was trying to inform me that making a murderer angry was probably not the best way to stay alive.

He raised an eyebrow slowly and with his annoyingly gray eyes he studied me for a moment.

"I don't need you to speak," he reminded me but I ignored him. Now I was riled up and couldn't back down before I'd spoken my mind.

"Why do people have to deserve to live?" My nostrils flared and I angrily wiped at my tearstained cheeks with the back of my hand.

"Life is a gift; people need to treat it as such."

"Bullshit! Do you know how many people die every day? People who deserve to live? That's a violent fucking amount of people, and they die no matter how much they appreciate their lives or how thankful they are for being alive! People live and people die, that's fucking life, you're not God – you can't put yourself in a position where you decide singlehanded what people need to do to earn the right to live!" I spat my words at him with as much force as I could muster, my hands moving rapidly in front of me as sentence after sentence poured from my mouth.

"I've never claimed to be God."

"But that's what you're fucking doing!" I cried, raising my voice another step, now just shy of screaming. I leaned forward on the bed, my face dangerously close to his. "Get out."

"I asked you to listen." His voice didn't change even the slightest; if I'd made him angry he was good at hiding it. My mind knew no reason though. I was completely blinded with rage.

"I told you to get the fuck out!" Rising to my feet I held my arms out in front of me, getting ready to use force if I had to. He just had to get away.

"That's not the rules."

"I don't care about your fucking rules!" He stood up when I aimed my first slap at his face. Grabbing my wrist with surprising force he made his anger clear, even if his voice wouldn't betray him. "Get out!" I screamed before crying out in pain as he twisted my arm to the left, forcing my body to follow.

I kicked at him, I screamed at him, I tried to claw at him and bite him. There was no strength left in my body, and yet I did my very best to do some kind of damage and get him to leave me alone. I didn't want to listen to his disgusting stories or stupid ideas. I didn't care if he left and never came back, leaving me to starve, I just wanted him gone.

"Get out, get out, get out, get out!" He pushed me away from him and I tripped over my own feet, falling on my ass. "I told you to get the fuck out you freak!" I managed to get my fingers around the cup I'd thrown at the door together with the tray earlier and I hurled it at him, hoping it'd hit him.

The emotions he'd shown had again disappeared, and as I sat on the floor yelling and swearing at him he merely walked to the door, opened it, and left. My cries became weaker and weaker as my screams turned into wordless high pitched howls. Against better judgment I started hitting the cement with my already mangled hands. I had so much aggression within me that needed out, not being able to take it out on the monster who'd stolen my freedom I decided that the floor would have to do.

I still had no idea what he wanted from me, but now I knew who he was, and unfortunately he was nothing shy of a monster.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the character of Jigsaw or the plot of the Saw movies. I don't make any money from writing this.

* * *

The next tray of food that was pushed into the room, without him even entering, I ignored at first. Then when my hunger was clawing so hard at my stomach I thought I'd go insane I picked it up and heaved it against the other wall. I'd made my choice; I was going to die rather than eat his stupid food.

Now entering what could be my third or fourth day (he still hadn't given me a clock) without food even standing for a short period of time was exhausting. I made sure to stay on the bed except for the few times I crawled across the floor to the toilet. Without any dignity left it didn't feel like a big deal anymore, and at any rate I didn't even have enough energy to feel ashamed.

I sang though, very quietly but to keep my spirits intact at least a little. Lying on my side, back against the room, and with my legs pulled up tightly towards my chest I whispered the lyrics to my most favorite songs. _Grenade_ by Bruno Mars I hummed for a bit, and then I switched to _Can You Feel the Love Tonight_ by Elton John, another musical love of mine. My mind was swimming with horrid thoughts and parts of me just wanted everything to be over. I wanted to starve _now_; I wanted to be dead _now!_ Whatever fight had been in me disappeared the first time I passed out from hunger.

The traitorous door gave away his presence again, but I ignored it like always. I pushed my hands over my ears and continued to sing _Somewhere Only We Know_, hoping that he'd disappear if I wasn't even listening to him. Scraping against the cement told me he was accompanied by a chair again and my heart sank to the pit of my stomach. I wasn't sure my mental health was good enough to listen to anymore of his bullshit.

"You're going to be sick," he commented suddenly, the sound of his voice causing my body to shiver from fear again. "You have to eat."

Ignoring him I pressed my hands tighter over my ears, willing his words to be blocked out by them. My humming got louder, if anything I was going to make it completely obvious to him that I wasn't going to listen – I was breaking that rule on purpose. Never before in my 29 years on earth had I wanted to hear something as little as I wanted to hear his voice. Somewhere deep inside my mind I was hoping it'd make him angry enough to kill me, to wrap his hands around my throat and squeeze or throw me around the room until death was inevitable.

"I can wait until you're ready to listen."

Tears suddenly overwhelmed my broken body and I started crying again. I turned so that I was facing him, and one of my still bloody hands reached out to grab whatever of his that was closest; it happened to be his left hand.

"Please," I whispered through tears that blinded me so much I could no longer see his face. "Please just kill me; I don't want to be here anymore."

At first I thought my words hadn't fazed him at all, but then he wrapped his right hand around mine and leaned forward, his face too close for comfort.

"All I need you to do is listen, and then you can go," he said. I blinked twice, to signal that I didn't understand, but he didn't say anything else. My small and fragile hand almost drowned in his rougher ones. After a moment without movement he broke our gaze and looked down at our hands, his long fingers gracing against my damaged flesh.

I tried to pull my hand back but he wouldn't let me, and I didn't have enough energy to really put up a fight.

"I'll get you some bandages for this," he motioned towards my hands as he said it. "Is it just this hand or is the other one also injured?"

For a moment, but just a short moment, he sounded almost kind and I couldn't help but show him my other hand too. Maybe he was really going to allow me to leave once I'd just listened? It didn't hurt trying, right? If that was true then I'd be free from his shackles and could go back home without even doing much. The more logical part of my brain told me that trusting a serial killer was retarded but I pushed it back. The part of me that wanted to live refused to listen to it.

"Will you really let me go if I just listen to you?" I whispered slowly as he released my hands and stood up. I held my breath, waiting for his answer, trying my best not to hope.

"All I need you to do is listen and then you can go," he confirmed. A fresh batch if tears came over me as I thanked him, over and over I mumbled my thanks as he moved out the door to get bandages for my hands.

My vision was blurry and I was still weak, but my hope had at least awoken from his promise, and even though I shouldn't believe him I couldn't help him. If he was really going to let me leave then I wasn't going to fight him anymore.

Never before had I known heaven. Never before had a bowl of soup made me so happy. The first spoonful that slithered down my throat made me feel as happy as if I'd just won a million dollars. It was the most brilliant feeling in the entire world. Closing my eyes to cherish the moment I chewed slightly at the small pieces of chicken I encountered.

I made sure not to eat too fast or I knew my body would reject it, but I was still enjoying every second of it. It didn't even bother me that he was sitting on his usual chair in front of me or that he was staring intently at me. The bowl of heaven was sitting on top of my right knee where I sat, Indian style, on the bed. No longer was I wearing my pajama combination since he'd brought me a pair of much too big sweats and a black hoodie. As I devoured mouthful after mouthful of my new favorite dish he simply waited patiently. When I had to pause to drink a gulp of water from the cup he was holding for me he simply handed it to me without a word.

Only when the bowl was empty and the cup was dry did he move, reaching forward to relieve me of my burdens. He placed them on the floor before picking up a small first aid kit he'd brought with him, and the mere sight of it made me giggle on the inside. It felt so surreal that someone who was responsible for the deaths of at least 20 people (and to be fair there could be a lot more that I hadn't heard about, news wasn't something I followed keenly) would even own a first aid kit.

I took the opportunity to study him carefully as he started working on my hands in silence. My eyes took in his appearance properly for the first time since my arrival, and I decided that even though he was clearly a freak and a psycho, he did have an aura of kindness about him, though I couldn't really pinpoint where it came from. Maybe it was his gray eyes or the curve of his nose or shape of his lips? I hissed suddenly as he squeezed one of my hands too tightly and I tried to pull it back. Again he wouldn't let me; instead he steadied his grip and met my eyes.

"It hurts because you might have broken one or more of your fingers. Let me do this."

Instead of answering with words I simply nodded, biting my lower lip to stop myself from making any more sounds of pain.

When he was done he released my hands and I pulled them towards my chest, relieved that I didn't have to feel his touch on my body anymore. I was still terribly afraid of him and a part of me refused to trust that he'd let me live. And yet my spirit had risen from the food and the care he'd given me – if he really was going to kill me no matter what why would he bother urging me to eat or mend my injured hands?

He leaned back in his seat and took a deep breath. I adjusted myself on the bed and pulled the covers up around my shoulders, still shivering slightly from the coldness of the room. For a second I wondered how he wasn't cold himself since he appeared to be wearing nothing but jeans and a white shirt, but I pushed those thoughts back. It didn't matter, I didn't care, I just wanted this to be over with.

"Are you ready to listen?" he asked.

It took me only a moment to find the true answer within me, making sure I was really ready, not wanting to risk losing my temper again and going off at him. I didn't shy away from his stare as I answered him.

"I'm ready."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the character of Jigsaw or the plot of the Saw movies. I don't make any money from writing this.

* * *

"I was married once," he started slowly, his eyes drifting away into some far off memory. "Jill and I knew we belonged together the first time we met; you could say it was faith. At least that's what both of us thought."

A shadow of a smile danced for a moment across his lips, catching me by surprise. I knew little of love, only having had one crash with it when I was younger, and it surprised me that this murderer would know more. This monster that killed people (whatever he might claim) had once been in love.

"Life wasn't perfect but it was good enough. She had a drug clinic downtown, where she tried to do good. She tried to help all of these people, and not once did she realize that they didn't need her to fix them. All they needed was some perspective." His voice got hard at the end and it scared me enough to shift back slightly on the bed.

If he noticed he hid it well.

"When we decided to start a family everything was planned out well, there was nothing left to chance." He took a deep breath, and something within me told me it was difficult for him to talk about this. "We were naming him Gideon, our son."

There was a heavy pause, and unfortunately my mouth just wouldn't listen to my mind.

"I like that name." The look he gave me after I'd spoken was nothing short of a glare. I shrank before his evident anger, frightened that I'd ruined something. I looked away before he did, unable to meet his eyes any longer.

"It's of Hebrew origin." I was glad when he decided to ignore me. "I've never been happier than when imagining meeting my son for the first time, and teaching him about the world. Unfortunately I never got the chance."

"What happened?" Again I couldn't stop myself from saying something, the second after the words slipped out I clasped a hand over my mouth. "I'm sorry!" I added quickly.

It was ridiculous, the way my heart was beating faster and the way I was leaning forward in my seat. It was completely irrational how I couldn't wait to hear his voice again, to know what had happened to his unborn child. I guess it was because I could relate.

"My wife was a victim to one of her patients' greed for drugs."

His voice had gotten just a little bit thicker, it almost wasn't there, but I could hear it. For the first time since I'd heard him speak he sounded almost human. Like he wasn't just an empty shell, but somewhere inside of him was a heart and compassion.

"When we lost Gideon I had nothing left."

He stopped for a moment, his eyes claiming mine for a second, almost as if he dared me to question what he way saying. Almost as if he expected me to point out that he still had his wife, and that they could've tried again. I said nothing.

"Six months later she was diagnosed with incurable cancer, but at that point I'd already left her. The pain of losing a child because of someone who didn't for a second value his own life caused me to close my mind. When Jill was diagnosed with cancer it was just another reminder of how unfair life is."

His hands rose to cover his face for a moment, and the silence was if possible even more deafening. I hated myself for feeling sorry for this man, because no matter how badly life treats you or how unfair things are, taking lives isn't something that can be excused. I nervously tugged at a stray lock of hair, uncomfortable in the silence.

"I tried to kill myself," he said finally, lowering his hands and again shifting his gaze to me. "But I didn't die. Like through a miracle I lived, and that's when I realized I had a greater appreciation for life. Even if I had nothing to live for I still had my life to live for. All I wanted was for others to see life as I did. To appreciate it as I did."

The look he gave me told me he wanted me to say something, but I had no idea what.

"Do you understand?"

"What?"

"Do you understand?" he repeated. My heart raced, trying to find something in his story to understand. Clearly he expected something from me, the realization that I had no idea what filled me with fear.

"I don't know wha-" I started, but he cut me off.

"People have to save themselves!" His voice seemed louder, or maybe I just heard it that way due to the strong feeling of panic that gripped me. "You can never help anyone, you can't change their lives, you can't fix them, they have to do that for themselves!" Now his voice was louder, it was unmistakable.

"I don't…" I trailed off, not having anything intelligent to say. I didn't want to look into his intensive stare anymore, but I couldn't look away this time. I felt my lower lip tremble as I tried harder than I ever had before to think of something to say. Anything. Whether it was a lie or not wasn't important, just as long as I made sure he didn't get any angrier.

"The people I test are bad people, some worse than others. I've tested junkies and prostitutes, but I've also tested murderers and pedophiles. Are you telling me they deserve to walk the streets? Are you telling me they should be allowed to interact with children?"

Out of nowhere his right hand shot out to grab my left wrist, I couldn't help but let out a gasp at the sudden movement and the painful grip.

"I've never killed anyone; they always have a way of saving themselves. Sometimes they have to sacrifice the tools they've used to hurt others, someone who's been beating his girlfriend might have to sacrifice his hands in order to live. But they all have the choice to stay alive!" His grip on my arm tightened and I made a face, yet still not daring to look away from his eyes.

"It's not your decision," I hissed finally, regretting the words as soon as I said them. "I know the laws aren't perfect, and sometimes someone is let off because of a technicality, but no single man has the power to decide how people should be punished!"

He released his grip and leaned back in his chair. Quickly I pulled my arm back towards my chest, rubbing the bruised spot with a bandaged hand.

"Who is the worst person you've ever encountered?"

"My college professor." The question had been so random that I couldn't halt the honest answer.

"Why?" he asked, his voice finally back to its calm and smooth self.

"That's not-" I started but cut myself off. I couldn't be bothered to tell the same stupid lies that I told everyone else. "It's complicated," I admitted.

"We have time."

Taking a deep breath I tried to figure out where to start. I was happy that he seemed to understand that I was busy thinking and didn't push me again. I tipped my head to the right and let out a hollow chuckle.

"Well, I guess I'll just do the quick version." He looked at me, waiting for me to continue. "We had a relationship, he was way older than me, I thought we were in love, then I found out he had a wife and two kids. I didn't break it off anyway." I had to stop for a second due to the tears that threatened to fall. I blinked quickly willing them away. "I really thought he loved me, and I believed him when he said he'd leave her for me."

I felt ridiculous when I noticed my cheeks were wet. Turning my head towards the wall I wiped angrily at my tears.

"When I got pregnant he was so angry. Man, I thought he was going to hit me." I didn't know for sure why I was crying, but I guessed it was because I'd never really told anyone about it.

"What happened?" he asked, though I felt like he asked it only because he wanted me to say it out loud and not because he couldn't already guess what the answer was.

"He forced me to have an abortion."

There. It was out. My deepest, darkest secret. The one I'd promised I'd take with me to my grave. And I'd told it to someone I didn't know and didn't want to know, someone who wasn't a shrink but a killer.

"Did you ever wish for his death?"

"Of course I fucking did! I wanted his wife to know and I wanted him to be all alone." Now angry, I turned to look at him again.

"It sounds like he didn't appreciate his life."

Suddenly I realized where he was going.

"I was just a kid!" I said forcefully. "I may have wished for terrible things to happen to him but it doesn't matter anymore. I'm over it, really, I've just not thought of it for such a long time."

He didn't say anything else, he just observed me for a long moment, long enough for me to feel awkward. I shuffled slightly in my seat and allowed my unwashed hair to fall in front of my face as a curtain, hiding it from his view. When one of his hands reached out to touch my knee I flinched.

"Don't," I mumbled, but he didn't move his hand.

A million things ran through my mind as we sat there unmoving; most of all was the question of "why". Why was I really there? What was the point of everything he'd told me? Why did he want to know anything at all about me? Mostly importantly, why had I even told him anything at all?

I was afraid that none of the answers would be to my liking.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the character of Jigsaw or the plot of the Saw movies. I don't make any money from writing this.

* * *

The clock was ticking and the game had started. Staring at the screen in front of him he switched on the lights, allowing the subjects to see the room they were in. Screaming, of course, and a lot of confusion. He was used to the sight; it didn't faze him at all. It had taken him a long time to choose the participants, but he knew they were perfect for the task.

Now, having waited long enough, he flicked the switch that turned on the tape, his own voice filling his ears and the ears of the people on the screen.

"_Hello Eric, Dawn, Jessica and Aaron. For too long have you ignored those around you and seen only your own happiness. For too long have you walked over those who you have deemed less worthy. Your talents have gone to your heads and you're treating both family and friends and fans like they should worship the ground you walk on and neglect their own lives. You're no longer thankful for what you have, and now it's time to change. On the wall in front of you are the tools to stay live. Use them well, and be willing to sacrifice what you must and you will make it out alive. But work fast, the timer above the door is counting down to when the contraptions you're wearing will close and effectively smother your pride forever. Make your choice, live or die."_

As always there was panic, yelling, swearing, threatening. Never did anyone hear the instruction and get right to work, even when they should. These four people only had fifty minutes to find the keys to save their lives, and finding them wasn't without pain. He leaned back in his chair closing his eyes for a moment and allowing his mind to drift. Trying to decide on whether they needed his full attention the whole time or if he had enough time to walk away he rubbed tired eyes with the back of his hand.

His sleep was suffering because he found himself worrying too much. The girl in his possession was listening but not hearing. For two weeks he'd now been speaking with her each day, explaining his beliefs and his faith to her, hoping she'd understand and see what he saw. The frustration he felt however didn't win over the hope he had that soon she'd really appreciate the truth.

The conversation on the screen stopped his thoughts and he paid attention to it once more. It seemed they'd found the first key. It wasn't one that led to their freedom; it was just the key to open the door to the room they were in. Watching them fight and panic gave him no pleasure. He wasn't fascinated by the violence like Hoffman had been. He didn't enjoy seeing people suffer, he didn't enjoy seeing people bleeding or pleading for their lives.

Rising from his seat he walked over to the second desk in the room. There were old inventions and traps scattered across the surface, but he pushed them out of his way in search for what he wanted. Moving the reversed bear trap out of the way he got it; it was a first edition of the only book he'd ever really cared for. He made a rash decision and quickly turned around.

He glanced at the screen as he passed it, noting that they'd made very little progress and that time was still on his side. Ignoring them he walked over to the door which would lead him to her, to the one he needed so urgently to understand. For the first time since she'd arrived he knocked on the door, waiting for her to grant him entrance.

Three of them had already fallen victims to their own stubbornness, refusing to listen to the clues and hints he'd given. He felt no pity with those who broke the rules, they didn't deserve to win. The red numbers next to him revealed that the last survivor only had little over five minutes left. He almost felt surprised that he'd missed so much of the game. All he wanted to do was hand the girl the book and walk back out, but for some reason he had lingered behind.

On the screen he finally saw the last person standing grab the right key and jam it with a bleeding hand into the lock at the back of the device. Knowing she still had three minutes left her survival was granted. The second she was free he got up again, ready to call on Amanda who would have to be the one to release her.

Amanda had been a grateful victim; she had changed her ways after being tested. When she was free her drug problem was fought and won against, all thanks to him teaching her to appreciate life. That she would become his apprentice felt like the most natural thing. Unfortunately Amanda had lately been bending the rules and sometimes even walked on the wrong side of them. Knowing that there would soon be another test for her saddened him; he had hoped she would've learned from the first.

He found her by one of the desks in the biggest room of the warehouse.

"One survivor, please take her out," he said when she looked up at him. She simply nodded and hurried to do as he'd asked. He followed her.

If someone had the strength to survive it was important that they were taken care of. They'd won, they were free, and they wouldn't have to suffer for a minute longer than necessary.

Now that this game was over he could start planning for the next, which would be on a much, much grander scale. More importantly, his guest would get the opportunity to watch. Hopefully by then she'd be able to see.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the character of Jigsaw or the plot of the Saw movies. I don't make any money from writing this.

* * *

I was dying inside. My heart was breaking and my spirit fading. Every day I listened to John's stories, trying to understand. Whatever hope I'd had that he would someday come to let me out had wasted away almost completely. That last sliver of hope that one day I'd see the daylight again had just about left me. I tried understanding, I really did. I wanted nothing more than to tell him what he wanted to hear, but nothing ever worked. I tried lying, telling him that he was right and that everything he did was for the best – it only sparked his anger and for the first time since I'd arrived he cursed and stormed out of the room.

Telling him that he was wrong wasn't working either. Telling him… well, anything I'd tried wouldn't work. I couldn't understand. I'd ask questions and he'd get frustrated. I'd try and tell him personal stories and he'd get annoyed. Nothing worked, nothing seemed to please him. The only thing that seemed to please him was that I wasn't complaining or making my sadness obvious anymore. Was I sad? Did I cry in the night with my legs pulled up like a little child? Did I wish myself dead at least ten times a day? Did I hope that one day he'd put poison in my food and just be done with it? Yes, yes I did. But I didn't let him know that, I hid it as best I could.

Why? Well, simply because that just seemed to make things worse. Whatever he wanted from me it wasn't to make me miserable. He managed that without trying. Whatever the hell he wanted from me wasn't to break me down or drive me insane – though that was exactly what he was doing. I listened intently to his stories, I read the books he brought me, I allowed him to discuss things with me and I answered his questions. Anything to please him, but I was growing tired.

One month I'd been his prisoner (finally he'd provided me with both a calendar and a clock) and it seemed like I'd stay forever. It made no sense, this wasn't the Jigsaw I'd read about in the papers. Granted I hadn't read a lot, but from what I knew his victims never stayed alive for long. And they were all tested, chosen because they didn't live the way he thought they should. I hadn't been tested, had I? Or was this my test? Something elaborate and completely insane that I just hadn't managed to figure out yet?

Being in that room was killing me, too slowly for my liking.

I was pacing again, my bare feet hitting the cement over and over as I moved from wall to wall. My hands couldn't be still for even a minute, always moving, always finding something new to do. They gripped the hem of my t-shirt, pulling at it. They ran through my unwashed hair. Clasped, unclasped, clasped again. Fingers snapping, hands wringing, nails scratching. Not for a moment would they rest, because I couldn't help it. All I did when not reading or listening to a psychopathic murderer (or was he a sociopath? I wasn't sure, it didn't matter) was pacing. My feet traveling across the cold concrete over and over, sometimes back and forth other times in squares or eights.

Whenever I stopped a strong sense of panic crashed over me. It felt as if I was drowning. It felt as if I was being smothered by the room, the walls coming closer and threatening to crush me to death. I reached the wall furthest away from the bed again and placed my palms against it, pushing slightly, wishing the wall away. Wishing for my freedom. I turned then, my back up against the wall, my breathing getting heavier.

Tipping my head backwards I allowed panic to rise for a moment, not being able to move away. The first tear slid down my cheek as I let out a whiney sound, something between a sob and a cry. It was getting so hard to pretend like I was fine, to tell him I was doing okay whenever he asked me. But I didn't dare show him I was falling apart. What if he deemed that I was too weak or stupid to ever understand whatever it was he wanted me to learn – what if he decided to get rid of me for that reason? After all, I was sure I was disposable.

One part of me wanted to die already, wanted to anger him or tell him I gave up. That I'd never get it, that I was too thick. Unfortunately the fighting side of me refused to give up until every last shred of hope was gone. And it wasn't, not yet. There's always hope, even if it's a fools hope.

Suddenly I let out a giggle, one hand shooting up to quiet the sound. Sliding down to the floor I thought of the quote I'd just unconsciously used from one of my most favorite movies.

"Oh that Pippin," I giggled, my legs stretched out in front of me. "He was always a loopy one."

I didn't know myself what I was saying, or thinking, it didn't make sense. I actually felt as if I was high or drunk, the way my mind was spinning and going everywhere. There was a rattling at the door and tiredly I glanced over, not even bothering to pick myself up. My fight was so close to gone I didn't care anymore, let him see me falling apart. I was so exhausted.

"Good morning," he said holding a tray in one hand and his usual chair in the other. Why he kept bothering to take it with him as he left I didn't get, but I didn't really care either.

"Yeah, isn't it just the best fucking morning ever!" I called, throwing my hands up above my head for emphasis.

He paused for a moment; he seemed surprised by my outburst. A wide smile was spread across my face as he placed the trap on the little nightstand he'd brought me some ten days ago. I lowered my arms a little, but still keeping them in the air. His eyes didn't leave me for a second as he placed the chair in the middle of the room and sat down. For a long moment we looked at each other in silence, then he opened his mouth to break it.

"Are you alright?" The fake concern in his voice was sickening.

"Yeah, I'm splendid!" My tone was light but mocking at the same time. "I've been in a shithole for a month, haven't felt the sun on my face or spoken to anyone except for a deranged murderer who thinks he can justify killing people because of some retarded moral he claims to have."

He shifted in his seat but stayed silent. I brought my arms completely down and allowed them to rest on my lap.

"You know why your morality is retarded? Because the people you _murder_," I put extra emphasis on the word, "are also someone's family! You had your family ruined because of druggies, and guess what? These people's families have their lives ruined because of you!"

A loud chuckle escaped me as I closed my eyes and hid my face with my hands.

"And the most retarded thing is here I am, someone who doesn't take her life for granted, and yet you're determined to break me down until I go fucking insane. Mission accomplished, I'm right there, I'm so going insane right now because of the hell you've brought me to!"

My erratic laughter turned to violent sobbing.

"Here I am, clinging to this tiny hope that you're actually going to let me out if only I can understand some of your fucking ramblings – but guess what, I can't! I don't know what you want! I have no idea, and I never will!" I shouted the last bit, gripping my hair tightly with my hands, pulling so hard it felt like I'd make myself bald.

"Calm down." He leaned forward on his chair, for a second it looked like he was going to join me on the floor but then he pulled back again.

"I really don't want to be here anymore," I managed to get out between sobs. "Please, I'm never going to understand, either kill me or let me go home. Please? Please?"

He rose to his feet, took a step towards me and then crouched down in front of me. When he put a hand on my shoulder I couldn't even be bothered to flinch. Instead I fell forward, all rationality gone, and grabbed his shirt.

"Please let me go," I begged, tugging at the fabric. I was hugging him suddenly, fisting the back of his shirt in a tight grip. _"Just let me leave!"_

He stood up then, pulling me with him, I would've fallen over if he hadn't held me steady, his hands on my upper arms. Wordlessly he started pulling me towards the door; I almost tripped trying to keep up with his steady pace. He opened it and walked out, me moving with him as he still had five fingers wrapped steadily around my arm. Long hallways flashed past us as we moved, my heart beating at a ridiculous pace.

The lights in the ceiling flickered just like the hope inside me flickered. Was he going to let me go? Was I going to be free?


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the character of Jigsaw or the plot of the Saw movies. I don't make any money from writing this.

* * *

In the room which seemed to be our destination there was a woman sitting on a sofa, and she didn't look pleased to see me. Her brown eyes focused on me with dislike and she shut the book she was holding with a loud thud.

"Amanda, leave," John said. His tone made sure there was no room for argument. Her chestnut hair flared out behind her as she stormed out.

Hope flattened in my chest when I realized he hadn't lead me towards my freedom, he'd lead me deeper into the hell I was living in. The second he released me from his grip I wrapped both my arms around myself, this new place much chillier than my cell. Looking around the room I saw two cluttered desks - one of them containing several large TV screens -, some chairs and up against the opposite wall was the sofa. There was also a strange window situated above one of the desks. It was even bigger than the desk beneath.

"Do you know what that is?" he asked, noticing where my eyes had strayed. I shrugged, still sobbing but much more calmly now. "It's a one way mirror."

He approached one of the desks and sat down. I turned around slightly with my upper body, glancing towards the door through which we'd come and the girl, Amanda, had left. I bit my lip.

"It's a maze out there and there's traps at some doors, choose the wrong one and you'll be dead within seconds." Looking up from the dead screen in front of him he held a hand out towards me, motioning for me to join him. Even though I wasn't sure whether his words were true or not, I still didn't want to risk it. I walked over to him and sat on a free chair.

"What's all this?"

"This is where I make sure people follow the rules."

Suddenly I felt nauseous and had to look away, one hand clamped over my mouth. This was where he watched people die. This was where he watched people struggle through traps and this was where he watched them fail. I closed my eyes for a second to calm down, not willing to allow myself feel panic again. My tears had almost dried, now that I wasn't crying anymore. Still fighting my fear I started observing the clutter, seeing that it wasn't just random objects that you'd expect to find in anyone's garage. No, there were devices, inventions. Things that didn't look like they were used to cuddle people. Suddenly I couldn't keep it in; I tipped to the side of the chair and threw.

I heard his chair scraping against the floor, signaling that he'd gotten up, but I didn't react. Still hanging over the edge of my chair I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Footsteps, rustling, more footsteps. Through my long hair which fell in front of my face like a curtain John suddenly held out a tissue for me. I accepted it without arguments. My cheeks burned as I pressed the paper to my mouth.

"I'll get that, don't worry." There was that tone again, that quiet tone of caring. It was so subtle I almost missed it. I only nodded and sat up straight, pushing my hair away from my face.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

He didn't reply, but I heard the sound of him using more tissues to get rid of my mess. I groaned slightly and tipped my head backwards, trying to get rid of that extreme feeling of disgust I had. I just couldn't believe where he'd taken me, and even less could I understand why.

"Let me show you something," he said suddenly, now standing to my left. He motioned towards the large black sheet of glass in front of me. I stared at it intently, but wasn't sure what I was supposed to see.

He flicked a switch on the wall and the sudden light made me squeeze my eyes shut and turn away. When my eyes had gotten used to the new brightness I noticed that there was in fact a room behind the mirror – the one way mirror, I reminded myself. It was actually a bathroom, dirty and rundown, suiting the rest of the building perfectly. And then-

"Oh my god!" I got up quickly, the chair tipping down behind me. I threw myself forward, leaning over the desk, my palms pressed up against the glass. "What the hell have you done?"

"Do you think he appreciates his life?" His voice had lost any tint of caring, instead it was cold and hard.

"I don't fucking care, you can't do this!" I started banging my healed fists against the window. "Jeffrey!"

"He can't hear you."

I ignored his words and rushed towards him, grabbing the front of his shirt.

"Let him go!"

"It's not in my power to save him."

On the other side of the glass my old college professor - the man who had broken me down completely when I was young - had started tugging at the chains binding him to the pipes on the wall. His mouth formed words I couldn't hear but I knew very well what he wanted. Help.

"You have to let him the fuck go!" Now my small fists hammered against John's chest instead. New tears blinded me. This was fucked up.

He pushed me away from him causing me to stumble, but I didn't fall. Again I turned my attention towards the mirror, and now I noticed the machinery attached to Jeffrey's neck. In a fit of rage I started pushing things off of the desk, shoving whatever my hands touched to the floor. I didn't even seem to realize what kind of punishment I could receive; I just knew that this wasn't fair.

After only a minute of throwing a violent tantrum – a tantrum John hadn't even attempted to interrupt - I calmed myself down. I pressed myself up against the glass after climbing back up on the desk. My heart was beating so hard in my chest I thought it might break my ribcage. My breathing was rapid and shallow as I fought to catch my breath. Squinting slightly I tried to make out what he had to do. I knew as much about Jigsaw's games that there was also a tape, and when I noticed the discarded tape recorder on the floor I realized he'd already listened to it. He was still pulling at the chains and screaming, stopping every now and again to work on the device on his neck.

"Where's the key?" I whispered, terrified what the answer might be.

"'X' marks the spot, just like I said on the tape that he listened to."

I started asking what he meant when I noticed a large red 'X' just barely showing underneath the hem of Jeffrey's black shirt. Realization washed over me like a bucket of cold water when I saw the scalpel on the floor next to his free foot.

"You expect him to cut the key out of himself?" My voice was just as numb as my insides felt, my disbelief so strong I couldn't react anymore.

"The tools are there for him to save his own life, but he only has two minutes left."

At his words I finally spotted the timer that was attached to the wall above my struggling former lover. The hate I felt for him hadn't vanished or lessened over the years, quite the opposite actually. For all the times I'd wished death to him I now felt awful. In spite of what I said to others about why I was still single, the man who was holding a scalpel in his trembling hand was the real reason. He had torn me apart and destroyed my trust. Being pregnant had scared the living daylight out of me, but I'd wanted it so much at the same time. Being coaxed into having an abortion was the most disgusting thing anyone had ever done to me.

Going through the memories in my head made my stomach turn and my entire body was shaking with anger. I hated him, god how I hated everything he'd done to me. But he didn't deserve this, did he?

"He's going to die." My voice was so low I at first wasn't sure he'd heard me.

"That's his choice."

"How did you even find him?" It wasn't really important, and he probably agreed since he never gave me an answer.

When Jeffrey made the first stab at the mark on his body I turned my face away, my hands pressed tightly over my ears even though I couldn't hear anything. Though suddenly I did hear something; a loud wailing. It took me a few seconds to realize it was me screaming in hysterics. Large hands gripped me and I was pulled into a firm chest.

My extreme need to know won over my fear and I turned around in the embrace, determined to see what happened. The amount of blood made me gag, and the desperation in which he clawed at himself made me shiver. Suddenly he froze; a look of knowing shadowed his face for just the fraction of a second. And then with a soundless snap his neck exploded.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the character of Jigsaw or the plot of the Saw movies. I don't make any money from writing this.

* * *

There was no holding back the cascade of bile that wanted to leave my body. There was no holding back the strange sobbing noises I was making either. There was no stopping the fact that my knees wouldn't hold me up and there was no way of preventing my head from spinning. Barely aware of the fact that John must be holding me up I flailed my arms, trying to find something steady to hold on to. Over and over whenever I even attempted to close my eyes I saw blood, so much fucking blood.

Another rain of vomit shot from my mouth, causing me to cough and struggle to breathe.

"You have to calm down or you're going to choke."

The hands that had been supporting me disappeared and I fell forward to my hands and knees, still not being able to breathe properly or stop the violent dry heaving – my stomach was finally empty. I heard his footsteps shuffling behind me but I paid them no attention. Arching my back I tried my best to catch my breath and to stop replaying the scene in my head. I didn't ever want to think of that again.

"Take this," he said and I was suddenly aware of him crouching next to me. He was offering me another tissue. Gratefully I accepted and sat back, resting on my folded legs.

"You did that to him." It was a cold statement and nothing less. I closed my eyes in spite of the vivid images, just wishing the spinning to stop. The tissue was still clasped tightly in my hand but I had no strength to use it. Noting that the floor next to me was free from my fluids I sprawled out, fresh tears glimmering in my eyes.

"He did that to himself by not appreciating life. Murder is distasteful, I've never murdered anyone."

If I hadn't felt so sick I would've laughed.

When he took me back to my room, after I finally managed to stand up without either vomiting or keeling over again, I didn't even protest. I didn't have enough energy to fight him or beg him to let me go again. I didn't have enough care. The second he opened the door and led me through it I struggled out of his grasp and made for the bed, not bothering crawling under the covers either. My fingers shook as I clutched the blankets, pulling at them slightly, wishing for comfort but not getting any.

Without a word he closed the door behind him and I didn't care. I didn't want to hear anything else he had to say. I assumed he was heading to clean up after me and after Jeffrey.

Thinking his name made me sob.

I wasn't sure what it was that made me more distressed. The fact that he had died such a gruesome death or that I hadn't been able to forgive him. Hell, he was dead and I still couldn't forgive him for what he'd done. Did that make me a monster? Did that make me as bad as John? Jeffrey was dead. Gone. He'd spent his last minutes in life stabbing himself with a scalpel and digging through his own flesh with his bare hands.

Weeping again I hid my face in my hands. I hated the feelings I had, I hated that I hated him still, and god how I hated John. I hated him for doing this to me, for forcing me to see that. What the hell had he even tried to accomplish? That I'd see what he did to people and have a change of heart? No way in hell. I might not be able to forgive Jeffrey even though he was gone, but I sure as hell didn't think he deserved it. Not even for a second. No. Not for a fucking moment. No, no, no, no.

Realizing that my thoughts were nothing but lies I tipped over the side of the bed and tried to throw up again. Unfortunately nothing came no matter how much I heaved. I was screaming then, rage and disgust fighting inside me for dominance. How could I for a moment think that Jeffrey deserved what he got? How could anyone deserve that?

Rushing out of bed so fast my worn body cried in protest I stumbled towards the door. I hammered on it as hard as I could.

"John!" Determined to catch his attention I screamed – unfortunately it wasn't as easy as I would've wanted. My throat ached from all the vomiting and my head couldn't have hurt more even if I'd banged it against the concrete. "John you have to-" I cut myself off.

Yeah Caitlin, what did he have to do? Or did he have to say something? What? Was he supposed to justify these thoughts?

"Please," I chose to call instead then, not being able to figure out why I needed him.

I didn't hear him until he unlocked the door and I jumped back, tripping over my own feet, falling back on my ass. He didn't step inside; he stopped in the doorway, eyeing me closely.

"Please," I pleaded again. "You have to tell me right fucking now why I'm here!"

Silence.

"I can't be here anymore and not understand, not after what you did to-" it hurt too much trying to say his name.

Not a word.

My shoulders started shaking with silent sobs. I moved, getting up on my hands and knees. Then I crawled like a child across the floor. My knees hurt but I didn't care. He didn't move a muscle as I leaned up against him, wrapping my arms around his legs and burying my face against his thigh. It was crazy, but my mind was pretty crazy at that point. I felt like a little girl, just needing someone to hug no matter who it was. As he knelt to allow me to embrace him more easily somewhere at the back of a mind a voice told me it was the second time in a day I'd turned to a murderer for comfort. I didn't care, I just needed someone to hold me, tell me it'd be okay, tell me I was fine and wouldn't end up like Jeffrey.

Or worse, end up like John due to the sick feelings I was having.

"Are you going to put something like that on me?" I whispered into his neck when my crying had finally subsided.

"No." Short, cold, uncaring. Except, was it really?

"What makes me so different? I've done bad things too."

"You appreciate your life."

I took a step backwards, the guilt of what I was doing and feeling gnawing at me too much for it to be ignored any longer. Wiping my nose with the back of my sleeve (I had no dignity left anyway) I noticed the tear stains on his shirt, and how he still hadn't moved from the doorway.

"Are you hungry?"

I nodded.

"I'll bring you something."

Then he left. The door still wide open behind him. Disbelief rushed through me as I waited for him to come back, to close it behind him. Nothing happened.

A minute passed. Two. Three. Five. I kept count in my head, making sure I didn't count the seconds too fast. He wasn't going to lock it, this was my chance. I shifted from one foot to the other and weighed my options. Stay or go? The mere thought that there was a change of escaping tugged at me, but the fear of what I might face made me hesitate. What if he had been telling the truth when he told me about the traps? What if everything I'd accomplish by trying to escape was causing my own death?

I took one slow step forward before stopping again. I bit my lip, tugged at the hem of my shirt, ran a hand through my hair, wringed my hands together, stopped. One foot in front of the other, just a little bit closer to the door. Stopping again, licking my lips, leaning forwards trying to peak out the door but being just one step short. Scooting forwards again, now being able to put one hand on the doorframe and glance around the corners. Nothing. Empty, dark, gloomy hallways.

Could I do this? Would I do this? Was I stupid for considering it? Was I an idiot for not running already? I didn't trust John, but yet I knew that he wouldn't hurt me or "test" me if he caught me trying to escape. Even though it was moronic and retarded (oh so fucking hypocritical too) I knew he wasn't actually a murderer. I knew he wouldn't grab me in a fit of rage and snap my neck. I wasn't so sure about Amanda though. Having only seen her once (boy had she not been pleased to see me) I had no idea what I could expect from her.

Turning around I knew I needed to decide soon. He could be back in a minute or it could be ages. I didn't know what he intended on bringing me. Sometimes he'd bring me food which looked like it had taken him about two minutes to make. Other times he'd actually entered my room carrying take out. I bit my lip again, turning back towards the doorway.

Freedom or prison?

Live or die?

I made my choice.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the character of Jigsaw or the plot of the Saw movies. I don't make any money from writing this.

* * *

Realizing that I might only have a few minutes I made the decision and quickly I rushed through the door. My heart was beating fast and my breathing picked up. I'd never been so scared in my life, but I knew it was the only reasonable thing to do, even if it cost me my life. I knew that earlier when we'd gone deeper into hell we'd gone right, so I chose the left direction, my bare feet almost soundless as I ran. Even though I passed doors to my left and right I continued following the murky hallway. From the window in my cell I'd gathered that I must be in a basement, so whatever rooms I might find they couldn't lead me to freedom. My best was to find a staircase.

Coming around a corner my own feet caused me to fall forward. My entire body felt like it was on fire as it made contact with the floor. Moaning I pushed myself up, but something didn't feel right.

Tripping, stumbling, shaking… my entire world was getting blurry all of a sudden. I had to stop, holding onto the wall in a panic since my body wouldn't move. Finally I realized how worn it really was and what kind of impact the fall had had on me. For an entire month the only movement had been my trudging from wall to wall in a dingy cell. I hadn't gotten a lot of nutrition, no sunlight, no real warmth (my cell was freezing during the nights) and on top of that, everything I'd eaten that day had been forced from my body. Every muscle inside of me protested when I wanted to take another step.

Forcing my eyes to focus on the hallway in front of me I tried to spot something that told me I was moving in the right direction. Something, anything. Maybe a window? Stairs? Daylight? Even a fucking door that didn't look like it'd lead me to another filthy room was good enough for me. Nothing. Blinking lights on a dirty ceiling made out of stone. Dark gloomy walls and floors covered in dust. Standing still I finally noticed how much my feet were stinging. I glanced down and realized they were bleeding, in my rush of getting out I must've stepped on something sharp. Or maybe they were just so worn that the cement alone was enough to tear them up.

"Fuck," I sobbed when the lights around me started disappearing. I knew I'd pass out soon, but I didn't want to. I didn't want to be there anymore, I wanted to be free. To feel the sunlight on my face. Hear the stupid chirping of stupid birds. See annoying people on the subway. Drink coffee in a coffee shop. Being pushed around on a McDonalds. I just wanted it all. My empty apartment, my deadbeat job, my family that I never really saw and the friendless nights spent with a book. Boredom was a feeling I missed.

Deciding that going back wasn't an option - the fight in me wouldn't have it - I took another wobbling step forward, my hands not for a second leaving the only thing that helped me stay upright. Another. Then another. Slowly, slowly. Too fucking slowly. Cursing out loud I forced myself to hurry. There were dark spots dancing in front of my eyes but I didn't stop, I wouldn't stop. Either I would run straight into one of his traps and die or he'd catch me. But I would not stop the limping run I'd broken into.

I came into a bigger room and a strangled cry escaped me when I saw the stairs. Without slowing down I threw myself forward and gripped the railing, pulling myself along as quickly as I could. Then, in a strike of panic, I hesitated. It'd be easy for anyone to see where I'd gone; when I glanced behind me I saw bloody stains where my feet had touched the floor. I bit my lip tightly, drawing blood. It didn't matter, it couldn't matter, I had to keep going!

Managing the stairs was hard since my body once more tried to tell me to quit. Again I was too stubborn to listen.

By the time I reached the top of the stairs I was crawling, no longer able to keep myself up. Wooden floors and wallpapers with dark stains on them welcomed me. Throttled sobs ripped through me as I moved on all fours in the new hallway I'd reached. Would this house ever end? Now that I was on ground level, my hopes dared rising just a little. When I reached a door I could just look inside, hoping to find a window. If there was one I could simply break it and climb out. It'd be easy. If only I could find a fucking door. If there was none, well I'd just keep going. Giving up had been an option before, but now it wasn't.

I was moving as in a trance, repeating in my head over and over that there was no failing, no matter what I had to keep going. My intense mumbling almost made me miss the door that was hidden in the shadows to my right. Bloody fingers gripped the knob, twisting it to the sides. Nothing. It wouldn't open. Wailing suddenly, forgetting to be quiet, I tried again. Again.

"Open, please open," I whined through tears. It was no use; it was locked. I left it behind.

Too exhausted to even crawl I used my arms to pull myself along, noting that I'd reached a carpet of sorts. At least I didn't have to deal with the hard floor anymore. My breathing came out in scratchy huffs by the time I found the next door, this time to the left. Praying quietly I tried to hoist myself up. It was near impossible. My limbs didn't want to listen to me anymore, it felt as if I was dead already and my brain just hadn't caught on yet. When my fingers slipped on the metal surface I cursed out loud.

I shuffled the handle and let out a sigh of relief. This door did open. I started pushing, leaning on it to make it easier, but then the door disappeared from my grasp and line of vision. For a second I had no idea what had happened. Then I felt the added pressure of my legs.

"No, no, no, no, please, no!" Pleading, crying, writhing. "Let me go!"

My body was moving, someone dragging me across the floor. Desperately I tried to grab something, anything. There was nothing to grab. My nails broke when I clawed at the floor in a frenzied panic. Blood marked the floor where my hands tried to dig into it. Kicking my legs was of no use, they wouldn't listen to my commands anyway.

"This is going to hurt." A female voice. Amanda.

I realized what she meant only when my chin hit the first step, not even having noticed earlier that she was dragging me down the stairs. Fumbling I tried to grasp the poles on the railing, but I were too tired. _I was too fucking tired._

Before we reached the bottom I managed to turn around, lying on my back looking up helplessly at the ceiling, her grip changing to manage my new position. My arms flailed still, but there was no point at all. Fighting was useless. Resisting was worthless. Anything I'd done here was completely pointless. I gave up, my body shut down; I allowed darkness to swallow me. The pain of being dragged and the stinging at the back of my head faded.

There was just no point.

At first I had no idea where I was as I opened my eyes. Nothing made sense; my thoughts a whirling pool of confusion. The only thing I could comprehend was the cold, hard surface I was lying on. The floor.

"She tried to escape because you didn't close her damn door!" Amanda was angry; I didn't need a clear head to realize that.

Drowsily I tipped my head to the side and opened my eyes, trying to see where I was. I couldn't see anything except for the angry glow of the lights above me and the distinct color of the hallway walls. Why hadn't I been taken into the cell again?

"Where did you find her?"

"She was just about to get her head blown off by one of your shotgun doors, that's where I fucking found her!"

My head was pounding, my mouth felt dry and it was hard to understand what they were saying. What kind of door were they talking about? Had I heard of a door like that before?

"I trust you, but I don't get whatever the hell it is you want with her. She's nothing but trouble. And now you're leaving her door open? Did you really think she wasn't going to run for it?"

The sudden smell of blood hit me like a ton of bricks. I coughed, not able to stop myself. Groaning came next. The voices stopped, someone moved, there was a hand on my forehead. I tried opening my eyes.

"Don't move, you hit your head." How could his voice be so smooth all the time? "I told you not to wander; if you had tried to walk through that door you would've died."

"I wanted to be free," I mumbled tiredly. I was so exhausted still, this wasn't good, I didn't want to talk. I didn't want to listen to him, or her, I just wanted to go back to sleep.

For a moment there was nothing, just blackness after I'd given up on opening my unwilling eyes. Violent ringing in my ears broke the deafening silence. Rough skin brushed over my neck slowly.

"You will be."


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the character of Jigsaw or the plot of the Saw movies. I don't make any money from writing this.

* * *

Annoying. The sunlight was bothering me in my sleep again and there was no way of escaping it. Groaning I rolled to my left side, hoping that somehow I'd- wait! What? Sunlight?

My eyes shot open, my chest tightening. It _was_ sunlight. The soft fabric beneath me wasn't that of the dingy bed in my cell. I was in my own bed. In my own apartment, the sun hitting my body, the warmth of it feeling completely surreal. Disbelief rushed through me and my mouth fell open. This was _my_ bed. This was _my_ apartment. For a moment I did nothing except relishing the heat, and then I allowed my eyes to wander. It was the same apartment as always. The same blue walls, brown carpet and light furniture. Nothing was out of place, except…

There was a tape player on my left nightstand. One of my trembling hands reached for it, the cool plastic feeling odd against my skin. I clutched it to my chest tightly, not sure what to do with it. Did I want to hear what he had to say? Did I want an explanation as to why I was sitting in my own bed? Did I care?

No. I did not.

Forcefully I threw the device as hard as I could, enjoying the sound of it bouncing against my floor. Looking myself over I realized how dirty I was. How my clothes (the standard sweats and t-shirt I'd been wearing in hell) reeked of basement. How his smell and his touch was all over me. Tipping over the side of the bed I threw up on the floor. However, it wasn't a cascade as before and it was over almost as soon as it started. I couldn't be in these clothes anymore. I didn't want anything of his around me, on me, near me. It was disgusting.

I started clawing, pulling, tearing at the fabric, fighting to rid myself of it. I stumbled out of bed and managed to rip the shirt off, and then my pants joined it on the floor. My skin felt wrong. My skin _was_ wrong. I needed to fix it. Suddenly I was running through my apartment wearing nothing. I threw my bathroom door open. I just couldn't get there fast enough, and I couldn't get the shower going fast enough. My hands slipped against the metal, causing me to tip several plastic bottles to the floor.

Seconds before I stepped into the now running shower I hesitated. I couldn't do this. I would wash away evidence. What would I tell people? I couldn't have a shower and then go to the police, that'd seem suspicious. Resting one hand on the wall I rested against it groaning. This was where I made my choice. Call the police, make it into a big deal – and it was a big deal, to be fair –, be interrogated, having to describe my stay, admit… oh god.

This time when I threw up at least it was in the toilet.

My knees buckled beneath me after my stomach had once again settled. I couldn't tell them. I couldn't tell anyone. Jeffrey was dead because of me. If I hadn't told John about… us, well then nothing would've happened. It was my fault. He was dead because of me. And I didn't even have, I didn't even feel…

The tears were inevitable. The anxiety was filling me up and I needed to let it out before my mind exploded. Crawling into the running water I made my choice. No one could ever know.

Three hours later I sat in front of an empty box of pizza, feeling sick. I'd wolfed it down, and then proceeded to pour three bottles of beer down my throat – and I never drank alcohol really. My skin was raw from the amount of times I'd scrubbed myself with the purple sponge, but at least I didn't feel filthy anymore. My skin still smelt like him, so I'd used a ridiculous amount of perfume to mask it

My wet hair hung in tangles around my face as I tried to decide on what to say to people. After looking around the apartment while waiting for the food I knew that no one had been there. It felt surreal that I was so unnoticeable that I could be kidnapped and missing for over a month and yet no one seemed to even be looking. There were three messages on my answering machine, one from work and two from mum. Three. Just three. My boss saying I was fired for not showing up and my mum saying it was rude of me not to return her calls. Three messages. A month I'd been in hell and no one even suspected foul play. The worst part was that it didn't mean that they were bad people, but that I really was that much of a wallflower.

I put my last bottle down on the table in front of me and bit my lip. How was I supposed to keep going? How was this fear and anger I felt supposed to just go away? Another wave of nausea rolled over me when I thought about it. I was just as bad as that monster, I hated Jeffrey and a part of me, however small it might be, was happy that he was gone. That he'd gotten what he deserved. The memory of his death haunted me, but the guilt of not feeling sorry for him was worse. Those thoughts made me feel hollow inside and I tugged at my hair in distress. How did one just fucking put this behind?

I got up, took a few steps, turned around, sat back down. Repeated the circle twice. Maybe a shrink would be a good idea? Biting my nails, rocking back and forth, trying to will away that clawing guilt within me. I couldn't afford a shrink, and I couldn't be completely honest with one anyway since I'd decided not to tell people about the kidnapping.

"Fuck!"

How did one get kidnapped, watch their ex desperately fighting for his life and yet failing, and then just go home? Sit down. Be fine. How the fuck? A dry sound fell from my lips as I got to my feet again, almost falling in my hurry to get to the bedroom. I'd already wiped my fluids up before eating, but the tape player I'd ignored completely. Kneeling down beside it I hoped that it wasn't broken. That it'd still play. Finding it intact made my heart skip a beat. This time I did need to know what he had to say, I needed to hear his voice. Frantically I pressed play, closing my eyes and hoping to find solace in his words.

"_Hello Caitlin, welcome home. I hope you will believe me when I say that I never intended for you to be injured or for you to suffer. You were not being tested. I admire the way you appreciate your life, even though it might not be rich of material things. Even at the darkest of times you did not sit idly, or allow yourself to give up. I know you believe that you did, but trust me when I tell you that are wrong. I hope you learned something from your time with me, like I learned from the time we spent together. Know that I will never contact you again so you don't have to fear me. Only if you come to me, will we ever meet again. I hope you will. You're alive because you're brave, Caitlin, never forget that."_

The silence that followed the tape ending rang in my ears. Sitting on my knees on the floor I felt the plastic slip from my fingers as I had to fight for air. I hated him. God how I hated him. I felt like I was on fire, and suddenly I realized I was hammering with my fists on the floor, screaming loudly.

"You fucking bastard you ruined everything!"

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

"I hate you and your stupid fucking shit!"

_Bang._ _Bang. Bang. _My fists started aching.

"Why?" Wailing now.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Falling forward, my head hitting the floor with a thud, I finally gave my throbbing hands a rest. I pressed my palms firmly against the floor. Tearless sobs shook my body.

"Why?" I whispered into my empty bedroom. "Why did you take me? Why did you keep me? Why did you let me go?"

I hated that I couldn't understand, that it didn't make sense. Nothing had made sense so far, and how could anything ever make sense again? I'd felt things I weren't proud of, I'd said things that disgusted me, and I'd thought things… horrible things. Things that made me as horrible as the man who ruined me.

Looking at my hands I realized numbly that I should probably go to the hospital to take care of them, but what would I say? It wasn't just my hands that looked terrible. I had bruises on my legs, bumps at the back of my head, my feet were still injured and stung terribly with every step and I was extremely slim from the lack of decent food. To top it off, the dark circles under my eyes told a terrible story. It wouldn't be easy to explain everything away.

Picking myself up I knew I'd do nothing. I'd crawl to the couch, turn on the TV, and stay there until I was ready to call work. Until I was ready to call my mum, knowing that I'd be able to lie, that my voice wouldn't crack and my façade fall down. I would sit in my apartment, my own mind eating me up from the inside out, and I'd allow it. I'd become a hollow shell of my former self. I knew there was no way of preventing it, already my mind and my strength was fading.

As I started moving, there was really just one thing on my mind. How the hell did you keep living after something like this?


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the character of Jigsaw or the plot of the Saw movies. I don't make any money from writing this.

* * *

"Get up."

Nothing.

"Get the fuck up."

Still nothing.

"You can't sit here all day."

Yes, I can.

"Caitlin, get up!"

Finally, one leg pushed over the edge of the bed. Then another leg. One hand for support on the nightstand. The other resting heavily on the mattress. Struggling, pushing, wobbling. Tired legs just barely keeping me upright. My head was spinning, then the room was spinning. Groaning, holding the sides of my head, willing the violent moving of the room to stop. Then it did. Great.

"Okay, get the hell out of this room. Then get out of the apartment. Do something!"

No, I really didn't feel like it. Hesitating, just for a second, biting my lower lip. The bed looking so welcoming and warm and safe, the only place where my thoughts didn't seem to haunt me. Mainly because whenever I climbed in I swallowed two of my strong pain killers with stale water from the glass that had been sitting there for too long. Just like me. Nothing seemed worth it anymore. One look at me and the bravest of men would back off. My long hair was lifeless, my skin was pale from lack of sunlight, and it seemed the black circles under my eyes would never go away.

Stumbling slightly, my knees threatening to give out, I made it into the kitchen in one piece. One hand never leaving the white wall connecting the rooms; I needed it for support. Three menus' tossed on the counter, conveniently right next to the phone. No energy for anything. No will to do anything. Empty boxes and cartons with names matching the menus' scattered across the counters. Beer bottles occupying the counters, the tables, even from on top of the TV one of them was staring at me. Taunting me. _You're weak Caitlin._

"So what if I am?" I spat angrily, kicking a stray box on the floor. My skin was crawling and itching, but I knew that no matter how much I tried to ease the itch nothing would work. Long scratch marks and wounds that might turn to scars were the evidence of that. So many times I'd sat in my shower, crying and using various tools to try and get the itch away, the sponge long since forgotten and discarded. Nothing would work.

And tears were useless. The last time I'd used them was when my mum wanted to come see me. Some strategically forced tears and empty words had spilled lies to her as easily as anything. _Oh no mum, I'm fine, I'm just upset over losing work and then that boyfriend I never told you about just broke up with me. No, no, I don't want you to come over; I'm heading off for a trip with some friends to cheer up._

Yeah, right.

I didn't have friends. No longer a wallflower, but something much, much more. Or maybe the word "less" was better used? Anger boiled within me as the thoughts swirled in my head, memories of the past eight weeks tormenting me. Hammering at the side of my head I let out a cry, my raspy voice struggling to make sound.

"Oh all this stupid shit I'm so fucking sick of it!"

A row of bottles met their fate as they crashed against the floor, my arm having swept them down in a fit of rage. Everything was such bullshit. Since I'd arrived home my only goal had been to find other Jigsaw survivors. Albeit survivors from tests, since I knew there were none out there like me. And I'd found them, three of them. We'd gone to a meeting together, I'd listened to their stories, listened to their words of gratitude as they emphasized how important it was to grasp life now, not to waste it anymore.

"_We have to cherish life, not take it for granted!"_

It was their motto, all they seemed to talk about, while giving each other tearful hugs of pride.

It was bullshit, all of it. I walked out, left them behind, and went home. I wasn't grateful. I wasn't cherishing my life. I _had_ cherished it. I _had_ appreciated it. And that's why he took me. That's why he decided to hold me as a prisoner. If I'd just been like the other jerks I knew, if I'd just not woken up every damn morning with a joyful smile, maybe then he hadn't taken interest in me. Maybe then I hadn't stood out amongst other people that did stand out.

Finally I gave up; I knew I'd do nothing productive. I wouldn't shower, I wouldn't have dinner, and I wouldn't go out. Stopping by the fridge first to grab three fresh bottles of wonderful alcohol, I returned to my bedroom. A tiny sliver of light managed to fight its way through the thick, black curtains I'd hung over my windows. That ray of sunlight wasn't going to fucking wake me up ever again.

Pushing all disgusting thoughts to the back of my head and ignoring the raging itch I climbed into bed, holding the bottles carefully to my chest. Settling, I put two of them on the nightstand and ripped the other one open, glad I'd chosen bottles with a twist top. Without a pause I downed the entire bottle, knowing that I'd wake up only a few hours later in the need for the toilet. But I didn't care, those few hours of sleep would at least be without horror or nightmares.

I looked at myself in the mirror, staring, taking in every feature. With a trembling heart and aching soul I made my choice. I couldn't deal with this, I wasn't strong enough.

The building in front of me was dark, dirty and abandoned. There was no doubt about it. Even though I knew the mere idea of this was stupid, I couldn't turn around. I couldn't walk away again. I couldn't go home. Shifting from one foot to another, I tugged nervously at the oversized sweater I was wearing, the feel of the wool beneath my fingers oddly comforting.

Finally I walked forward, approaching the large doors with a roaring mind. My senses were screaming at me to turn the fuck around, but I refused to listen. I couldn't go back to my apartment and rot, I needed help. This was my help, it had to be.

I had to tug hard on the handle before the door slid open, revealing the dark inside of the factory. Dust swirled in front of me and I coughed, once, twice. Tears stung my eyes, this building looked like it hadn't been touched in years. My hope fell drastically. That wasn't right. This was supposed to be the place, the newspapers said it was.

"Hello?" I called out, my voice echoing, bouncing around the walls before greeting me again. Taking two steps in, I noticed the thick layer of dirt on the floor. No one had been here in ages. Maybe years.

Throwing caution out the window I forced my tired body into a run, aiming deeper into the factory. I cursed out loud when I fell over my own stupid feet, scraping the palms of my hands on the hard floor. I cracked then, laying there, my mind finally breaking. For the past eight weeks I'd pushed as much emotions down as I could, not admitting the real source of my fear. That I'd… no, I wasn't ready to admit it. Or was I?

"Please," I begged to no one in particular.

Crying violently, shaking, pleading. My entire being shaking with every painful sob that ripped through me.

"I'm not okay."

Fighting, leaning on trembling arms, pushing myself into a sitting position.

"John!" I screamed then. "Can you hear me?"

Lowering my voice to a whisper.

"I-" I started, but couldn't finish the thought.

I never wanted to finish that thought. But it was true, it was all true. I'd been home for eight weeks, but I wasn't free. I would never be free again, not as long as I felt… no, I couldn't.

"You're…"

I didn't want to admit it, not even to myself.


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks for all reviews, and I appreciate your reads!**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the character of Jigsaw or the plot of the Saw movies. I don't make any money from writing this.

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"I can't live like this. I can't live knowing what I've felt and not understanding why. This isn't right. I don't want to be out here, I'm not free. I'll never be free again! Please help me! Please, just tell me what you want. Save me. I need you!"

It was out there. The horrible thoughts I'd been having, the strange craving, the anger and the need. The lust for answers, for reason. No one else could offer me wisdom, could offer me what I sought, only John. Nothing made sense to me anymore, and it was bringing me down, eating me up, filling me with venomous thoughts. I wanted him. The one person I hated until my blood felt like it was boiling. The one person I gladly would see dead in one of his own traps. The one person I needed more than my lungs needed air to stay alive.

How long I'd been lying on the floor I wasn't sure of, but finally I managed to get up, not bothering to try and get rid of all the dust that was clinging to my clothes. The only reason I'd gone there was because it belonged to him, John. I'd managed to find it using Google – it was sad how much information there was out there on him and his business. Foolishly I'd hoped that maybe he'd kept me there, that I'd be able to find him on the first try. Of course it wasn't that simple. I wiped my nose with the sleeve of my jumper and sniffed twice. Taking one last glance around before I turned around, ready to go back home but not ready to give up. I wasn't going to give up; he said that if _I_ wanted to find him we'd meet again. And I did want to find him.

The walk to my car was gloomy and silent. With one hand on the handle and the other rubbing my tearstained eyes there was a sudden movement behind me, causing me to turn. My hair whipped around my face, and one of my hands shot up in front of me, as if I was ready to defend myself from whoever was standing there. But no one was there, only the empty parking lot and the darkening sky above me. My heart pounded in my ears as my breathing tried to return to normal. What had I heard? Hope sparked within me but died soon after, replaced by fear. I was in a dodgy part of town; it didn't have to be John for it to be dangerous.

I couldn't get into the car fast enough it seemed, yet it wasn't long before I started it up, relief washing through me as I put the gear in and got moving. At first I wanted to go home, to crawl back into bed, have a beer, swallow my pills and allow sleep to grab me. Then I decided against it. I couldn't go back, that would be giving up. I needed to find him, if only I knew where to look. After reaching the more populated area of the city I pulled over, but not turning the engine off. Both hands were holding the wheel so hard my fingers started turning white. Where should I go?

"Where the hell are you?" I asked my reflection in the rearview mirror, begging it to answer me. When it didn't, I banged a fist against the wheel in frustration. I pulled my phone out, intending to connect to the internet again, looking for another building that John owned, then I realized it was pointless. The police would already have gone through all of them; it'd be stupid for him to reside there.

Closing my eyes I let out a deep sigh. This was the most fucked up I'd been in my entire life. A hollow laugh broke out from within me and I couldn't stop it. Tears sprung to my eyes from the violent cascade of laughter, which also started hurting my stomach and my ribs. It was crazy. I'd spent an entire month wishing myself free from that disgusting murderer, and here I was trying to find him again. After eight weeks of being free and yet not free, I was so upset about not finding the monster that I was crying. It was completely insane.

I calmed down a little, after a few minutes and shut the engine off. Not sure where I would go from there I figured it was stupid to leave the car on any longer. I shook my head, tipping it forward, staring at my lap. When the hell had I lost my mind? Had I always been insane maybe? Perhaps that's why I didn't make friends easily or the real reason why I couldn't have a functioning relationship. I ran a hand through my hair and thought of the things John had shared with me. Of how he'd had everything he could ever wish for, then the actions of another had ripped it away by killing his unborn son. Then how his wife had gotten cancer and passed away. Life really wasn't fair to anyone. But was it enough to justify what he was doing?

No, I decided. It wasn't, it never would be. My own guilt gnawed at me over Jeffrey and it was tearing me apart, even though I couldn't stop the thoughts of how he had deserved it. I felt guilt, a lot of it, and I had only very indirectly caused his death. I also felt guilt for not forgiving him, and for the sick part of me that enjoyed knowing that he'd never again be happy and that his last moments in life had been filled with horror. The fact that John felt no remorse however, over what he did must mean he was a sociopath. Or psychopath. Or something, I wasn't sure of the specifics behind the words. All I knew was that no normal person would be able to watch people be ripped to pieces without feeling at least some compassion or guilt. The only question now was, was it worth it to find him again?

"This sucks," I mumbled as I turned the key in the ignition. Going home was my best bet, if he was watching me, and somehow it felt like either he or Amanda for him was, then he'd know by now that my life was a complete mess and that I was looking for him. Of course, I could only hope that he wouldn't kidnap me again but instead choosing to be a bit more civilized about it and perhaps just coming to my apartment like a normal person to chat with me.

Another chuckle escaped me when that thought hit me, and I almost took my hands off the wheel for a second. John wasn't a normal person; I thought I'd just established that. And at any rate he was wanted in the entire frickin' country, coming and going to a downtown apartment complex would be insane. More insane than strapping people in machined designed to split their ribcages open.

Whatever had felt funny about the situation disappeared when my mind wandered to the traps I'd read about, those that had managed to leak to the press. A twinge of hate towards myself rushed through me as street lights flashed across my car every few seconds. The trap that seemed by far the worst, the one that Amanda had worn haunted me for a long moment. The Reversed Bear Trap. Designed to rip a person's jaw away from the rest of their face. Only a freak could think of something like that. Or how about the man who was forced to crawl through barbed wire to get himself out? He wasn't as "lucky" as Amanda; he didn't live while she did. Look where that had gotten her. My hands gripped the wheel tighter for a second. She had managed to live and she decided to dedicate her life to John, doing what he was doing.

Before my kidnapping, the story of his apprentice had never reached me. Though afterwards, after coming home and desperately trying to find reason, I'd read everything I could come across about him. About Jigsaw, as they called him so tastefully. Regret started filling me as I came closer to home, and by the time I had pulled into the parking garage and silenced the car I was trembling. What kind of person was I trying to find? A monster? Yeah, I think I'd made up my mind a long time ago that he was a monster. But didn't that make me a monster too, for wanting to speak to him again, for yearning to hear his voice? As sick as it was, I knew it was the truth.

Too scared to go up to my apartment, terrified that he'd be waiting for me, I remained in the car. A minute passed. Then five, ten, twenty. I bit my lip.

"Fuck this!" I opened the door and left the car behind.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the character of Jigsaw or the plot of the Saw movies. I don't make any money from writing this. 


	15. Author's Note!

Dear everyone who has and is reading this. I know I haven't updated for… you know, an eternity, but here are some amazing news:

- This story branched out into a sequel, called Within Caitlin.

- Which branched into another sequel.

- Which branched into another sequel.

- And so on and so forth.

Sort of.

In reality this story is now complete (though it has a sister story which is in process) and it has reached a mindblowing **200 897 words!** It's my longest completed story to date (eh, my longest story period) and I'm insanely proud of it. I am going to re-upload it here, and I will update weekly seeing as how I've already written the chapters but does indeed intend to give you some suspense. Mwohahaha.

Anyway, I will re-post this story, meaning if you are subscribed to this you might want to keep an eye out for the link to the new and revised version. The first few chapters will be nearly identical, however, I will slam some chapters together to make them longer and I will edit some typos and some things I'm not pleased with. And of course provide you with the rest of the story.

Thank you for reviewing and reading and I hope you'll stay with me to read the rest of the journey for these characters. But alas, remember that I've made these characters and this story my own, so it'll go in the direction I've felt it had to go (and unfortunately sometimes where the characters told me it had to go) and thus it's not going to follow the Saw films.

Oh well, stay tuned for news!


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